


You're Using It Wrong

by the_casual_cheesecake



Category: Marvel
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Tony Stark, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, I feel weird posting something with no archive warning, M/M, SO, Self-Hatred, Steve Rogers' War Stories, archive warning for: gratuitous tooth rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22269055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_casual_cheesecake/pseuds/the_casual_cheesecake
Summary: Tony has some brain goblins that Steve beats into submission with cuddles and love.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 32
Kudos: 184





	You're Using It Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cathalinaheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cathalinaheart/gifts).



> This is for Cat, who is an absolute menace who made me write fluff in exchange for her publishing a rarepair fic she wrote for me. I hope you drown in happy tears and get buried under cuddles!
> 
> Thank you to Nigmuff who was a champ and let me bully her into doing beta work for me, you're the best. <3

They’re watching Grey’s Anatomy and Tony is looking out the window behind the television. Steve is warm underneath his head, breathing evenly and humming at the screen whenever the plot gets interesting. He’s also rubbing a hand up and down Tony’s back, it’s distracting enough that Tony’s lost track of the last fifteen minutes of the show.

Steve is good at hugs, he’s large enough to envelop Tony in one arm, warm enough that Tony can’t help but rub his cheek against him like a cat when he shifts. This whole cuddling business started during the Avengers’ movie night; nothing like squeezing an entire team on a couch together to make them bond, after all. Steve and he never stopped doing it, though, they gravitate towards one another now like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Tony doesn’t think he’s had this level of comfort with anyone before. His chest feels light and he keeps hiding a smile in the fabric of Steve’s T’shirt. It’s ridiculous how happy those moments with Steve make him. He wants to pause and stay like this, in this perfect cocoon of time, serene and uncomplicated. A world of their own, lounging on the peak of pleasure.

Tony knows that this isn’t the sort of pleasure other people dream about, though. He knows he’s missing something vital when he looks at people-- when he looks at Steve, something his brain can’t compute no matter how he approaches it.

Attraction, Tony thinks, is an update his brain is still waiting on. He keeps turning it over in his head, rebooting his thought-process. It could be connection issues: _you just haven’t found the right person yet_ , but that feels entirely absurd when he’s sitting under Captain America’s arm. It could be a system error: _this update is incompatible_ , but that feels like a defeat, and Tony can’t stand being beaten.

He looks up at Steve’s face, still engrossed in the drama. It’s a perfect time as any to try, he supposes. See, Tony is in the middle of a scientific experiment, and experiments need repeating to verify the results, the scientific method demands it. And so, he looks at Steve and asks himself the question: _What do you feel?_ And marks down the answers in the corner of his mind dedicated to blue eyes, blond hair, and a voice that could move mountains with its authority.

The slope of Steve’s nose makes Tony want to trace it with his finger, and lust is defined by the dictionary as an intense wanting or longing for something. Tony certainly longs for it. Steve’s mouth is pink and plump, Tony’s thumb tingles with lust to touch it. Now that he knows it, Steve’s chest evokes a new desire in Tony to hear his heartbeat. He looks at Steve’s cheek and imagines his mask resting on it, familiar and dependable, Steve Rogers here to save the day. Steve’s arms are wide and secure around him, and he wants them there always. Steve’s side is solid and comfortable where Tony lays on it, Tony loves it against his stomach.

Tony digs, digs, and digs, and his brain leaves him blank once more, his libido unmoved. Tony’s heart is full of unrelenting affection for Steve. The experiment, however, is as much a failure now as it was the first time Tony attempted it.

Steve shifts against him, stretches the side that Tony isn’t resting on. Tony realizes the episode is over and the soft end-screen music is playing.

“Are you asleep?” Steve whispers over his head. Tony shakes it in response but doesn’t answer. Steve’s hand moves to his hair and pets him, Tony can feel him smiling against the top of his head.

“I sure do hope Christina doesn’t end up getting fired for this. I like her; she reminds me of you,” Steve says.

“I love you,” Tony answers, he can hear the grief in his own voice as he says it.

Steve turns to look at him, dislodging Tony onto the couch. Tony doesn’t make eye contact, he stays in his post confession heap and hugs himself before the cold of abandonment seeps in.

“Tony,” Steve whispers, light and breathy. He holds Tony’s hands gingerly and lifts them to his mouth, kisses each of them once and then laughs against his skin, the soft exhales tickle and Tony dares a glance. Steve looks radiant. His eyes bright and wide, and he’s smiling like Tony’s never seen him smile before. “Tony,” he repeats, like Tony’s name is made of magic, like it’s some precious, delicate thing, cradled in Steve’s mouth.

Oh, god. Steve doesn’t get it. Tony’s love is toxic, it’s murderous, it infects and ruins. It grew wrong and hollow. Nobody wants Tony Stark to love them. Starks are made of iron, hard and cutting.

Steve leans in and kisses Tony’s forehead. “Tony,” the third uttering is made of fragile doubt. “What’s wrong?” Steve asks. Tony smiles back at him, but it feels wrong on his face, a muscle in his upper lip twitches. The room feels like a funeral for something that died before it started. Tony feels like a surgeon about to inform the next of kin. He opens his mouth to tell Steve--

“Tony, I love you too. I always have. You’re not alone in this; why are you so sad?” Steve’s voice is desperate, afraid, and god, Tony never wanted to know what Steve sounded like scared. Even worse, he didn’t want Steve to love him, never wanted to inflict himself on someone as incandescent, as good as Steve. Not when Steve is the brightest spot in the universe.

“Steve, I’m not normal--”

“None of us are,” Steve interrupts with one passionate breath.

“Let me finish, please,” Tony says. Steve nods and smiles apologetically, he kneels on the floor between Tony’s legs and looks up at him, assuming a position of utter vulnerability to comfort him. He holds Tony’s hands in both of his and waits. Steve is such a good man.

“I love you. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this deeply about anybody, ever, and it’s so infuriating, Cap because I still don’t-- I--” Tony sighs and takes a hand out of Steve’s grasp to rub at his eyes. “I can’t _see_ you, not like other people can, something is missing inside me, in my fucking brain… sorry. If I could just get inside my own mind and reprogram it to work properly, I would, in a heartbeat, but I can’t and you’re still-- I still can’t see you.”

“Tony, slow down, what do you mean you can’t see me?” Steve asks softly.

“I am not--” _I am asexual_ “--attracted to you, to anybody, I love you and I can’t look at you and feel what I’m supposed to feel.” Tony stumbles over the words, all his usual grace, gone. Steve’s forehead wrinkles in confusion, his head does an adorable little tilt, and he smiles the way he always does when he doesn’t understand what Tony is saying but thinks that Tony’s brilliant as he says it.

“When I say attraction, Steve, I mean sex, I’ve never wanted to have sex with anybody.”

Steve’s demeanor changes, his back straightens and his frown transforms into one of suppressed rage. Steve’s anger is always beautiful. It’s large in the room, it fills the corners of Tony’s vision. Sitting opposite it burns like a thousand righteous suns.

“What. Do you mean. You never wanted to have sex, Tony?” Steve’s voice is tightly leashed to his throat, carefully not loud enough to be a shout. Tony didn’t think he would warrant anger, not of this magnitude. He shifts on the couch, cowering a little in the face of it. Steve’s eyes widen.

“Oh, god, sorry. I didn’t mean-- Tony, I’m not angry at you,” Steve stammers on. “I just know that you have slept with people before, and the idea that you didn’t want to-- Tony, are you okay? Did they-- I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

“Nobody _forced_ me, Steve. It’s fine, it’s what people do. I’m just _broken_.” Tony spits the word out like venom, like if he directs enough poison at the corner of his mind that refuses to cooperate it would curl up and die and let him be _right_.

“Tony.” Steve leans in and takes him in his arms. He holds him against his large, warm chest and rubs at his back softly.

Hitting a problem over the head until it’s solved is Steve’s number one specialty. His second solution, though, is to embrace it, to love it enough with all its faults that it’s no longer a problem at all. Tony closes his eyes and doesn’t cry. After a minute, Steve leans back on his haunches.

“I want to tell you a story,” Steve says. The abrupt change of subject confuses Tony and calms his tirade of self-recrimination down at the same time. Steve is waiting for an answer though, so, Tony nods.

Steve crosses his legs and straightens his back, gets into his Steve Rogers Story Mode.

“So, back in the war there was this soldier in our unit, right, and he was an asshole, truly a son of a bitch. He kept complaining about everything, from the food to the uniforms to the cold. Every other word he said was a complaint.” Steve starts, he’s smiling, though Tony knows Steve’s war stories aren’t always happy ones. “But most of all, he complained about his rifle. Now, since he was a jackass, nobody took him seriously about it,” Steve chuckles.

“Till one day, we were on the edge of the Atlantic Wall in Bordeaux, a reconnaissance mission gone wrong, which is a whole other story, really. We were huddled in the ruins of a bar and enemy combatants were systematically searching for us outside. We were definitely outnumbered. My men were quiet, the eerie silence of soldiers, where nobody dared shiver even in the freezing cold of winter.” Steve goes a bit absent behind the eyes, and Tony can tell he’s there on the battlefield inside his head.

“I decided that I would sneak out from the building on my own -- quieter that way -- and draw their fire to me on the other side of the street, and then the unit could take them from the back unaware,” Steve makes movements with his hands as he talks that Tony suspects are the exact ones he used to communicate this so many years ago. It’s such a wonderful gift to get to see him like this; Tony is always riveted by him.

“I moved, and the tactic worked, I got hit, but that was fine, my men would have died otherwise-- anyway, the problem happened when the private came out and tried shooting his intended target and his rifle didn’t work. He freaked out, froze, and almost got shot by the enemy. I was too far away and under too much fire to do anything about it.

“Then Bucky came out of nowhere like a fucking hell hound,” Steve looks down, chuckles and shakes his head and then looks at Tony again, and smiles. “I have no idea what came over him, but he took the rifle out of the private’s hand and hit the enemy with the back of it so hard the other guy swayed on his feet. Thank god, someone with more brains thought to shoot him after.” Steve shakes his head again. “So, then Bucky turned around, and just to be a little shit, looked at the soldier straight in the eyes and said ‘it’s not broken, man, you’re just not using it right!’”

Tony bursts out laughing without meaning to. “Steve, that’s fucking ridiculous.”

“I know,” Steve laughs.

“It has absolutely no relation to what we’re talking about here,” Tony says, but he feels lighter, and Steve sneaks a hand around his middle and pulls him to the edge of the couch.

“It has everything to do with it. You’re not broken, I don’t care about you wanting to have sex with me, Tony, frankly, I’m a bit insulted you’d think I wouldn’t wanna be with you for it. I love you, Shellhead. I want to watch TV shows with you, make your coffee, sketch you while you overwork yourself. I want to fly with you and do your fucking laundry. I love you,” Steve says, and takes Tony’s breath away. Then, he pulls him closer still.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“Yes,” Tony breathes, stunned.

Steve kisses like an ocean, deep, warm, and all-encompassing. He carries Tony into his lap on the floor and holds him. He kisses him and smiles against his mouth. He keeps stopping to look at Tony with his bright, bright blue eyes and grin, and then stealing another kiss like he can’t believe he’s allowed to do it.

“You love me,” Tony says, and buries his face in Steve’s neck.

“I love you,” Steve replies.


End file.
